


distorted, beheld

by orphan_account



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Claiming, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spitroasting, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-05 00:18:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13376100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “You know,” Elias says over Jon’s head, all proper and faux-polite and frosty, “Your presence here is very muchnotneeded.”On the other side of him Michael laughs and splays its not-right hand over the skin of Jon’s stomach, and Jon swallows hard and squirms and isn’t sure whether he’s trying to squirm away from or into the touch.“I think the Archivist disagrees,” Michael says, every inch the cat that got the cream.





	distorted, beheld

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Laylah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/gifts).



“You know,” Elias says over Jon’s head, all proper and faux-polite and frosty, “Your presence here is very much _not needed_.”

On the other side of him Michael laughs and splays its not-right hand over the skin of Jon’s stomach, and Jon swallows hard and squirms and isn’t sure whether he’s trying to squirm away from or into the touch.

“I think the Archivist disagrees,” Michael says, every inch the cat that got the cream.

“Yes, well.” Elias catches Jon’s chin in his hand, tilting Jon’s head up to face him. “We both know that Jon doesn’t always make the choices that are in his best interests.”

A hot flush of shame runs through Jon at that, makes him avert his eyes and bite his tongue and then shudder when Elias shifts the hand on his chin to run fingers through his hair instead, says softly, “You’re still growing very well into what you’ll be, of course.”

(it ought to be ominous, worded like that, but the Archivist is more than a man who records tapes and so something warm and sickly-sweet thrums in his chest at the praise)

Apparently not content to be left out, Michael clicks its tongue and slides its hand further up until there are fingers like knives pressed into Jon’s chest, curled in such a way that he’s reasonably sure the thing could press down and extract his heart if it so chose. He registers this in an abstract, non-judgmental kind of way where he can’t quite tell if he’d mind as much as logic and self-preservation dictate he ought to, and almost as soon as he’s had the thought Elias is tutting above him.

“See? Terrible choices.”

Michael shoots Elias a look that Jon would almost describe as disgruntled. “ _That_ is _cheating_.”

Elias actually laughs at that. “We use the tools we’re given, ‘Michael’.”

The thing looks almost petulant, but it focuses its attentions back on Jon after a moment, scraping its fingers down across his chest and leaving thin scratches behind that burn like fire.

(using the tools it’s been given, Jon supposes)

For all of the quiet animosity between them - which Jon is hesitant to call _bickering_ , at least where Elias can see, and ‘the inside of his head’ evidently qualifies for that - Elias and Michael fall into… if not a rhythm, at least apparently some silent agreement that they want the same thing and so can work together, or compete, or—

Well. It’s hard to tell _exactly_ what they’re aiming for when their shared desire is evidently ‘teasing Jon until he can’t think straight’, and they’re both apparently very good at it even without both of them working at once.

Whatever they’re aiming for seems to involve a combination of the stinging slide of Michael’s hands and softer touches from Elias, sharp and softer fingers running over his skin until there’s apparently some kind of agreement between them and Jon is shifted abruptly and not-entirely-gently, left on his back with Elias kneeling over his head and Michael settled between his splayed legs. He barely even has time to process the shift before Michael has something hard and slick and dripping pressed up against his hole, and he barely has time to process _that_ before Elias’ hand is knotting in his hair and tilting his head up and he’s pressing his cock up against Jon’s lips.

 _Wait,_ Jon thinks, and also, _Go on,_ and Elias laughs and strokes his free hand over Jon’s cheek.

“So indecisive.” It sounds like a mockery and like affection all in the same breath.

Elias holds Jon’s head in place without moving then as Michael presses into Jon and stretches him out with something that’s too thick and too wet and not at all human, leaves him gasping and twitching his hips in a confused push-pull between encouragement and escape. Before he’s managed to recover from _that_ , Elias is taking advantage of Jon’s open mouth to slide his cock between Jon’s lips, stretching his mouth open wide as well and pushing in further right up until Jon thinks he’s about to gag, at which point Elias pulls back again slowly, and then repeats it again and again until he’s fucking Jon’s mouth in a demanding rhythm that pushes right to the limit of what Jon can handle.

(knowingly, of course, because every time he thinks he’s about to gag or that perhaps he can handle more, Elias adapts his rhythm in turn)

Michael’s idea of fucking seems more bizarre; it doesn’t seem to be moving, just holding onto Jon’s hips with too-sharp hands and watching him almost curiously, but the thing inside him writhes and pulses and fills him up more than he thinks is physically possible, more than a human body can hold. He feels like he ought to break from it, feels like at any moment it ought to become too much for him to handle, but the thing keeps moving inside of him and it keeps being _just right_ instead, until he’s just making helpless noises around Elias’ cock and squirming his hips toward Michael and not thinking about anything because he _can’t_ think, not in the face of this.

He doesn’t know how long it lasts - minutes or days or hours or eternity - or how many times he comes - once or twice or never or never-endingly - before Elias pulls out of Jon’s mouth and reaches down to fist his cock a few times before coming over Jon’s face and drawing a ragged, half-protesting moan from him. Elias sits back then, the hand still knotted in Jon’s hair shifting to run through it slowly instead.

When Jon manages to force his eyes open, Michael is watching him like a cat with a particularly interesting mouse, and as he stares back at it, it reaches out and drags a finger down his face without leaning forward, slices open a thin cut on Jon’s cheek. It keeps on watching him, watching the come and blood drip down his face, and then it’s making an odd crooning noise and the thing inside him pulses and twitches and gushes out some kind of fluid that feels hot and cold at the same time and drips out of him as the thing inside of him slides out.

He’s wrung-out and tired and without Elias’ cock in his mouth and whatever Michael had inside of him he feels so _empty_ , and he has a moment of distress before he’s being pulled up to rest against Elias and his face is being wiped clean, Elias’ voice murmuring in one ear and Michael settling behind him and crooning into the other.

“We have you, Jon,” Elias says at the same moment that Michael says, “We have you, Archivist.”

Claimed by two things, perhaps, because the thing Elias serves has him so firmly collared but where Michael lays its knife-sharp hand upon his side he feels odd and twisting and _different_ somehow inside of his torso. It ought to be a concern, he knows, the claiming and the twisting both, but he’s too tired and too spent to protest or even really think beyond the fact that the two of them _do_ have him, secure between them, and that that’s exactly what he wants right now.

(maybe when he wakes up the concern will hit, but until then he’ll sleep between them and just let the part of him that _wants_ to be claimed like this rule what thoughts are left to him)


End file.
